While this story can be read as a stand alone, reading 'Bring Out Your Dead Valentine' first will give you some background that I did not include in this story. Enjoy.
Ronnie sat cross legged on the bed with her back up against the head board fully aware of the effect she was having on me. Her poker straight blond hair cascaded across her bare shoulders and pooled on her pale breasts. She was so beautiful, so engaging, and so ready to crawl into bed at every chance. She was the delightful benefit I found when I went looking for a summer job.
They say if you take a million monkeys and a million word processors sooner or later one of them builds a campfire. I was that metaphorical monkey warming his hands over the raging fire of sexual fulfillment.
I'm a loner by nature and had spent last summer isolated and horny while working twelve hour night shifts as a press operator in a tire factory. This was better. What I had now wasn't love, but it was companionship of the most delightful kind.
"What do you mean I'm the strangest combination of Goth and farm girl?" Ronnie challenged with a hint of a smile gracing her full lips.
"First of all I don't see many blond Goths, and secondly, you have an astonishingly curvaceous body. Shouldn't Goths be more gaunt looking?" I answered my nude girlfriend sitting next to my equally naked body stretched out on the bed, "and by the way you did grow up on a farm."
She gave me a wounded look. "When I was in high school, I dyed my hair black, wore black clothes and hung out with fellow Goth students. And I only spent my summers on my uncle's farm after I discovered boys in the tenth grade. My Dad shipped me out to my uncle's farm in Ohio. It kept me away from the boys, but I did enjoy skinny dipping in the creek."
"What made you stop dressing like a Goth?"
"I went to college, Aaron, where there were no Goths. My first day there, I looked at myself in the mirror and decided I looked ridiculous. But I like vampire movies and dead things still fascinate me," she added like they were positive points.
She pointed at the wax skulls on the dresser and the stuffed squirrel on the shelf over the bed. She decorated her room in vampire chic. A Queen of the Damned movie poster occupied the black painted wall opposite the bed and heavy red velvet curtains excluded the summer sunlight outside.
"In fact, tomorrow when you come over, let's shower in the coldest water we can stand. That way we can pretend we're vampires making love afterwards."
"I'm not sure you would want that," I observed with a grin, "shrinkage is a real thing."
"Stroke her body, honey," a grandmotherly specter suggested who had floated into the room announced, "she loves to be touched like I did while I was alive."
I glanced over at the wraith. I had seen her in the house before and guessed that her grave was somewhere near. People build over old abandoned graves all the time. Sometimes the grave is still in use. With her steel gray hair done up in a bun, she could be anyone's grandmother except she was nude, but then specters all were.
Without acknowledging the specter, I stroked my hand up and down the inside of Ronnie's taut thigh starting at the knee and ending at the hip where my little finger grazed her smooth shaven outer lips. Ronnie most wanted to make love right after we had made love. She slid her lovely body down the bed until she faced me. I pulled her close and kissed her marveling at the softness of her eager lips eliciting a moan from her. Her stiff nipples grazed his chest. I was in college boy heaven.
She reached down and grabbed my tumescent cock.
"Look what I found! What should we do with it?"
"I've got a couple ideas," I whispered as I grabbed her nipple between thumb and fore finger and pulled harder than I thought was comfortable. Ronnie moaned in approval and cuddled in closer.
"Make love to me," she whispered, "I'm lonely and I have the urge to merge."
I sat up, knelt between her legs and admired her smooth pale flesh, her full breasts, narrow waist and lovely hips. Her passion clouded face added to my arousal. I took a mental snapshot to remember her by.
"Has anyone told you how astonishingly beautiful you are?" I whispered before I slid into her upraised arms.
"Only you," she murmured pulling my chest down onto her breasts.
I love the soft warmth of a woman's skin next to mine. Sex is wonderful, and I would be disappointed if it did not happen, but the softness of a woman's breasts against my chest, the aroma of arousal mixed with the scent of her shampooed hair and perfume as I bury I face in a woman's hair are moments to be treasured as well. Women are so not men, and I love them for it.
"Those other guys were either fools or blind."
I stroked slowly, demanding long lingering kisses from time to time as I caressed her body until Ronnie began raising her hips to meet my down stroke. The third time tonight was not a race to the conclusion, but a celebration of how well we fit together physically and emotionally. As she came she drove her fingernails into my back and moaned my name bucking beneath me. Moments later I pulled her into a sitting position with my cock still impaled in her. She rocked her hips back and forth until every muscle in my body knotted up and I pulsed and pulsed into her.
"I love you throbbing inside of me," Ronnie gasped while grinding her cunt into my groin.
"I love throbbing inside you," I groaned into her ear.
I'm not much of a poet in the throes of passion.
Afterwards I sat in the kitchen at the island still naked while Ronnie gazed into the refrigerator while wiggling her ass at me.
"When do your parents get back from their Alaska trip?" I asked my naked hostess.
I loved the way she strutted around with bed head and a confident smirk on her face after we made love. She knew she owned me and I wasn't about to object.
"Next Sunday," she replied pulling out an egg carton and a package of bacon, "is breakfast for dinner okay? Otherwise we have to get dressed to go out and eat."
She said 'get dressed' like it was a dirty word.
A look of dismay crossed her face as she stood at the stove holding the eggs and the bacon.
"You better cook, honey," the grandmotherly specter who had followed us downstairs said with more than a hint of judgment in her voice, "this one doesn't even know how to boil water,"
"Would you like me to cook?" I offered as I stood, walked behind her, and gave her a kiss on the neck.
Ronnie nodded reaching back to stroke my cheek. "I'll pay you back in fucks," she offered forcing her ass back into my groin.
"Sounds like a deal to me."
I found an apron, a frying pan and began cooking up the bacon as I searched the fridge for ham and American cheese.
"Would you like a ham and cheese omelette?" I asked my naked beauty.
She nodded. "Who taught you how to do all this stuff?"
"My mom taught me," I glanced over at her, "she said it was part of me knowing how to make my way in this world."
"You had a good mother," the grandmotherly specter added.
I suppressed a smile. I never talk to a specter in the presence of the living, but sometimes they are so funny, so snarky that it's hard not to chuckle. Maybe I could talk to her after Ronnie fell asleep. After a few orgasms Ronnie fell into a deep sleep.
Specters fascinate me. I've met funny ones, sad ones, confused ones, but I've never met an evil one. They do have an annoying habit of intruding wherever they chose and commenting freely whenever the mood hits them. Mostly I don't mind, but sometimes like now, I would have liked a touch more privacy.
Ronnie hugged me from behind sliding her arms under the apron I wore to protect my flesh from the hot grease of the frying bacon. You only make that mistake once.
"You have an amazing ass," she observed giving me a kiss on my bare shoulder as her hand slid down my back to cup my cheek, "it's rock hard.'
From there her hands found my cock tenting the apron.
"I found something else that's rock hard and the perfect size for me."
"Is that why you're attracted to me?" I teased.
She stepped back and frowned at me as I churned three eggs in a bowl to make the first omelette.
"I'm attracted to you because you're dark. You don't dress like a Goth, but there's a darkness about you that I find appealing, and you get me. Sometimes when I watch you, it's like you're listening to voices that no one else can hear."
I thought to myself, if she only knew, but to her I said with a smile, "I'm dark? You're the former Goth whose parents own a funeral home."
*****
The next day, I glanced at my watch as I walked back inside after the last car in the funeral procession had passed. It was time to reset the chapel for the next viewing. Ronnie's dad, the owner of this funeral home, had a sharp eye for placing the chairs in precise rows in the room and I was doing that as the funeral director, Ellen, with Ronnie wheeled in the next body for the three o'clock viewing. That done, the director retreated pushing a cart loaded with flowers from the last viewing so she could bring in the next batch for the current deceased.
"Make sure you vacuum the carpet; the flowers dropped petals all over the floor up by the casket," Ellen ordered as she pushed the cart past.
That woman was the one thorn in the ass of an otherwise pleasant summer job between my sophomore and junior year of college. She paid more attention to me than she did to any other employee. I guessed she didn't like my relationship with Ronnie because it gave me access to her father who owned the funeral home. I was cheerful, pleasant, and always did what she asked of me without complaint, but I could never do enough to please her.
I nodded, and continued to push the chairs into military rows precise enough to warm the heart of a drill sergeant. I hated these quick chapel turn-arounds. The crew had less than an hour to clean and freshen the room before that next mourning family entered. Maintenance people like me had to rush.
With the chairs positioned, I looked up at the new occupant of the room laying in her coffin. She was young, barely out of her teens. She looked thin as if she had battled death for a long while and it had marked her, but the embalmer and the dressers had done a fine job and she retained the illusion of life about her still body. They had gathered her lush auburn hair into a pony tail and pulled it over her shoulder in an almost flirty fashion.
Ronnie, the funeral arranger for this family, walked up beside me. She looked demure wearing a black shirtwaist dress in a satiny fabric that set off her blond hair and pale complexion in a stunning fashion. She made my breaks so much more enjoyable when she joined me.
"She looks good, doesn't she?" Ronnie whispered in reverence as she stroked the body's hand.
I nodded. "It's a shame she died so young."
"The death certificate says bone cancer got her."
The funeral director came in and frowned at us.
"Stop gawking at the body; there's work to do. Go back to the flower shop, Ronnie, and grab the flowers for the Hawkins showing. There's at least four more vases back there. Aaron, get this room vacuumed now."
The director turned on her heel and marched from the room looking for more employees to bother.
"I'm not wearing underwear," Ronnie whispered with an impish grin.
